If You're Not The One
by PJ Comics
Summary: A series of self contained stories, almost episodic in nature, about Mindy and Dave's complicated friendship which leads to more... Set in KA2: The movie (AU). ** This fic is formerly known as "Mixed Signals"**
1. Her First Time

**A/N: So, I have been inspired to write this while working on a new story. I took a few liberties with this one, which makes it AU. Hope you enjoy!**

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Her First Time

Her vision is a light blur, and her head feels as if it's spinning like a globe. She remembers now: His breath brushing against her neck as he pressed a soft kiss onto her skin, the sensation of his cracked lips against hers, his intoxicating smell, his body's warmth, and the feeling of him inside of her. It was her first time. She has been told: The first time is usually kind of shitty. However, hers wasn't. It was – in fact – nothing short of amazing. So amazing, that it was better than the adrenaline high she'd get after beating up a bunch of cunts. But, unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. She knew he would probably be gone in the morning. So she would just treasure every minute she could spend in his arms.

As she suspected: She is alone when she turns her head to the side, seeing an empty bed beside her. Rolling over, she buries her face in the pillow he's slept on, inhaling deeply. Sighing softly, she pushes herself up and slips out of bed, knowing she needs to face the day. She isn't really sure what to do, but she can't stay in bed all day and smell the sheets.

After putting on sweatpants and a shirt she walks slowly towards the kitchen, contemplating what she wants for breakfast as an irresistible smell of bacon hit her nostrils. She furrows her brows, wondering what Marcus is doing home so early. He was supposed to be gone for the whole weekend.

As she rounds the corner and steps into the kitchen, her heart skips a beat. She sees Dave, humming to himself, mixing something in the pan in front of him, and wearing only his pants and nothing else.

"Shit, Dave – you're still here?" She doesn't want to make it sound like a question, but for a brief moment she wonders if she is hallucinating until he turns around and shoots her a lopsided grin.

"Um, yeah," he replies, turning off the flame, and transfers the food onto two plates. "Do you want sausage or bacon? Or both? Both is good."

She slips on a stool, watching him work in her kitchen as if he was living here. The whole scenario is making a lot of emotions twist and turn inside of her. It feels as if butterflies in her stomach are kick into overdrive.

"If you don't mind me asking ..." she starts to say as he put the plate with toast, eggs, bacon and sausage in front of her and settles down himself after pouring both of them a glass of orange juice. "Why the fuck _are_ you still here?"

His eyebrows knit together for a moment as he takes a sip of his orange juice before meeting her gaze. "Um, well… Shit – I guess I was fooling myself last night."

"What do you mean?"

"I wanted to keep you away from me, because I knew the moment we'd do it...I'd want you more than once," he explains.

"And we, definitely, did it more than once," Mindy shoots back.

"I know – I enjoyed every second of it," he replies, his voice low, shooting shivers down her spine.

"Obviously," she adds without missing a beat, grinning at him.

"So, the thing is: I know we're best friends, partners...but now that we had sex I guess it's gonna be harder for me to stay away from you ," he says softly, reaching for the peanut butter jar, and butters his toast with a butter knife. "But, I don't think it would be a good idea to let anyone know about us."

The blow comes completely out of the blue, but she isn't surprise about it.

"It would just cause a lot of problems... Imagine what would happen if "this" were to become public; a 20-year-old sleeping with a 16-year-old… So there's no need to talk about this to anyone when this will blow over eventually."

It isn't suppose to hurt that he is convinced what exists between them is only lust and will cease eventually. But, it still does. It is more to her. Always has been. But apparently, it isn't more to him. At least, not yet. But the sex is mind-blowing, and she isn't willing to give that up yet.

"Fine," she replies calmly, surprised that her voice isn't shaking. "Let's keep it a secret."

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**A/N: Let me know what you think!**


	2. A Bullet To His Heart

**Chapter 2: A Bullet to His Heart**

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**A/N: So, I have been inspired to write a follow up to "Her First Time". Again, I took a few liberties,** **which makes it AU. And this chapter is set two years after the events of "Her First Time". Hope you enjoy! **

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A Bullet To His Heart

He awakens in a jolt, startled and uncertain of his surroundings. The last thing he remembers is clear in his mind: Chris D'Amico, known as The Motherfucker, and his gang of super-villain were holding him prisoner in some kind of warehouse. Then someone charged in to save him with impressive stealth manoeuvres, killing all the followers of The Motherfucker.

It's only then that he remembers the bullet and being angry at himself for not having the chance to settle things with Mindy – he immediately sits upright in a panic.

Or tries to, but two hands press against his chest, holding him down. "And just where do you think you're going?" asks a familiar female voice he never thought he'd hear again. It takes him a moment to recognize it as Mindy's, and his eyes open immediately when he does.

Dave expects to find himself staring at the ceiling of a hospital room, but instead finds himself faced with the white and grey interiors of the safe house. Again, he tries to sit up, but she pushes him back down. "Jeez, Dave, take it easy—you've had a rough day," she states, with an edge of concern in her voice. "I'll help you sit up, but only if you do it slowly. You're still seeping a little, and I don't want you bleeding out on the fucking couch. I've _seen_ and washed enough blood for one day."

He chuckles a little before he finds that the action makes him hurt. Then he feels a hand on his left arm, gently urging him upward. Her face appears in his vision, her eyebrows knitted together slightly in concern.

Finally upright, he leans against the couch, examining his surroundings again. "How did I get here?" he asks her. It makes her eyes roll, she's wearing her Hit-Girl suit sans her domino mask and purple wig; and for the first time, he realizes that his flannel shirt is open, revealing a piece of gauze on his shoulder area. "I remember Chris' goons torturing me and getting shot, but after that…" He shakes his head. "Nothing."

"You passed out. I carried you off from the warehouse and brought you here," she answers. "You were bleeding and I stopped it mostly, but I can't do much more than that if you want to go to a hospital—the police will be all over that, and I can't be involved. But that doesn't do a fucking thing for the nine-millimeter still in your shoulder." She studies Dave in a way that makes him a little uncomfortable, as though she can see right through him. "But I seem to remember that your _last_ trip to the hospital wasn't too pleasant... I can fix you up here, too, but it will probably hurt a whole lot more."

Dave shudders at the memory of his first attempt as a superhero: He got stabbed by a bunch of thugs, ran over by a car, and rushed to the hospital. It was the most embarrassing moment of his life. "If you can do it here – do it." The last thing he wants is to have cops asking how he got shot—which could complicate things and undermine his superhero activities.

Mindy nods once before standing, pulling over a rolling tray of medical supplies. She leans over next to Dave, pulling back his already open shirt, exposing a piece of gauze over the top of the wound. Her eyes flick up to his for a moment, then back down as the beginning of a smile shows at her lips. "You're nervous," she mutters to him absently, peeling back the gauze with careful fingers. "I'm not gonna lie; getting that bullet out is gonna hurt like a bitch.

Dave sighs. "No shit…"

"At least, you got that crazy tolerance for pain because of your fucked-up nerve ending," she assures him as he misses the needle until he feels the liquid being released next to the wound. He tries to look down at it, but Mindy turns his jaw upward, away from the injection. "Don't look at it, just stay still and relax. It's just Lidocaine – a local anesthetic.

The needle comes out before she releases him, and he turns his attention to her now. He has to sort things out with her, but he doesn't know how."By the way, I wanted to tell you…" he tries to say, thinking long and hard.

"Tell me what?" she questioned, turning her attention to the medical cart.

He bites his lip, not finding the courage to go all in. "I wanted to tell you: Thank you for saving my life…" Darting his eyes from her to the medical supplies on the cart, he adds, "I didn't think you'd come for me… You came in the nick of time."

"I know – God only knows where you'd be if I wouldn't have shown in time."

Dave knows exactly where he'd be, and he supposes Mindy does, too: six feet under, dismembered, cremated or whatever Chris had in mind for him. It's something he doesn't want to think about and instead, he latches onto a different thought. "Chris – did you kill him?"

"I didn't have to," Mindy answers cryptically. "He fell from the warehouse's rooftop – it was, at least, a four-story fall."

"Good," he says, sighing in relief. "That crazy son of a bitch deserved –"

"Shit."

A raised brow appears on Dave's face. "What's the matter?"

"I don't have a scalpel to make the incision for the forceps," she explains, rummaging through the shelves of the cart, and sighs. And then, her eyes lights up before she pulls a knife out of the pocket of her Hit-Girl suit. "Oh well, I'll use my knife instead – gonna need alcohol – got it in the cart so check! And, gonna need a lighter, too..."

Dave's no expert, but that doesn't sound good.

She goes over to her purse, rummaging through it for what looks like a flashy purple cigarette lighter, and Dave raises a brow. After all, Mindy doesn't smoke. "Don't worry, I just have one because it looks cool," she answers the unspoken question as she moves to sit down again. "And it's purple, I happen to like purple – a lot."

Dave swallows when she releases the switchblade, thinking she might have done that a time or two before. "You wanna tell me what you're going to do with a lighter, a knife, and some alcohol?" he asks, maybe a little nervously.

She pours the bottle of alcohol into a tray. "I need to make an incision to remove the bullet. In a hospital, they would do it with a scalpel, but I can't find one in the medical equipment," She explains, and dips her fingers in the alcohol. "I hope this doesn't screw up my nail polish — I just did this yesterday." She points an index finger with a purple nail at Dave before wiping the blade down with the alcohol, careful not to let it touch the handle.

"So," Mindy continues, her voice turning somewhat stern, "we're going to do this a little differently. But, since I don't want to stick my knife in you that's been used to cut and stab some cocksuckers, I'm sterilizing it first." She pulls it out of the alcohol then, holding it up for a few moments before flicking open the lighter and setting fire to the blade. It generates a small flame that fizzles out quickly. "And we're sterile."

Dave studies her for a moment. "So _that's_ what they've been teaching you in senior year, huh?" he asks dryly, then realizes that maybe he shouldn't be a smart ass to the person about to cut into him with a knife.

Fortunately, she doesn't seem to mind, laughing lightly. He looks away when she starts cutting because he does _not_ want to see this. He's just glad he doesn't have to feel it, either. "My daddy taught me," Mindy answers. "Being a superhero ain't exactly sugar and rainbows. You can get injured – or worse: Killed. You never know when a crash course in field medicine can come in handy." She holds up the blood-covered bullet in triumph before dropping it into the alcohol tray and wiping off the blade of the knife, folding the blade in and placing it on the cart.

Dave nods as Mindy takes the suture package from the cart. "I couldn't agree more." Then he looks down, watching her concentrate on pushing the suture through the wound before staring at her, thinking long and hard; gazing at her long blond hair, almond shape piercing green eyes and heart shape face. His stomach ties in knots. He has to settle things with her – it was now or never. "Um, Mindy, I've been thinking about our last conversation…" he trails off and then winces when the suture needle slips. "I felt that.

"Sorry," she mutters as she ties off the end of the suture and quickly slips a piece of gauze over the wound, sealing it before pulling away. "Okay, you're good to go."

Dave raises his brow. "So…that's it? I'm good?"

"Yeah, for now. The Lidocaine will wear off in a few hours and you're probably going to be sore for a while, but if it gets too bad, I can give you a few pain pills. And you need to take the stitches out in six weeks."

He nods, staring at her. "Just now, you sounded like a nurse – I gotta admit that's kinda hot."

"Whatever," she snorts, rolling her eyes. "I suggest you go home and get some rest – we're done here."

As she tries to get up from the couch, he latches his hand on her arm. "Mindy, Hold up."

She sighs, shaking her head before making eye contact with him. "What do you want, Dave?"

His brows knit together, letting go of her arm. "I just want a chance to explain myself... Please?"

Her eyes narrow as she let out another sigh. "Fine...you have ten seconds."

"Ten seconds!? That's ridicu –"

"Nine."

"Look, Mindy, I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry for everything –"

"Eight."

"Okay, I was wrong to think you didn't know what you wanted –"

"Seven."

"We never were officially a couple – I thought what we _had_ was going nowhere – but I was wrong. We had _something_ good, _something_ real. And Like an idiot, I took it for granted –"

"Six."

"And I took _you_ for granted…but now my eyes are finally open for the first time in almost two years –"

"Five."

"A month ago, you said you wanted to have an official boyfriend/girlfriend relationship which kind of caught me off guard, so I told you I was gonna think about it –

"Four."

"And obviously, that pissed you off because you wanted my answer right there and then…

"Three."

"The truth is: I was afraid to commit. I was afraid to have a relationship with you – even if you're, now, 18 and all… I was afraid of the risk of potentially losing you if a relationship wouldn't work out."

"Two."

"It took me a long time to figure my shit out but I'm ready to take the leap... I want you to be my girlfriend, Mindy."

Her lip twitches slightly. "One."

"And more importantly, I want you to know that I _do_ love you."

She looks startled for a brief moment before shooting him a look. "Jesus Chris, Dave! You've made me wait one month? One. Fucking. Month – and had to get shot to come to that conclusion? You're a fucking dumbass."

A lopsided grin appears on his face. "Well, if that's the case, I'm a dumbass who's in love with you."

Heaving a sigh, she smiles at him and moves closer to press her lips against his. "I know."

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**A/N: I really want to hear what you all thought of this.**


	3. Through the Night

**A/N: So, this chapter is set several months after the events of "A Bullet to His Heart". Hope you enjoy!**

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Every time he wears the suit he keeps asking myself: How the hell is he gonna get through the night?

Dave doesn't know when exactly he started questioning himself about his nightly activities – or why. It sounds like he's trying to convince himself he may not be good enough for the real-life superhero lifestyle, which he has gotten quite good at – well, as of late.

However, he has the kind of life most people would probably scoff at. And honestly, he gets it; the facts speak for themselves: he's a 21-year-old dude, who runs around in a costume during nighttime to lay some senseless beatdown on fodder crack heads.

Despite the fact some people may think he's a fucking loser, who's wasting his potential; he believes he's, now, making a real difference, when it comes to crime-fighting. He's no longer a punk in a wetsuit. And he has learned a lot from his past mistakes – the hard way that is.

So now that he's wiser, stronger and properly trained, he considers himself a mature version of Kick-Ass. He's now an efficient badass, who gets to literally kick ass, take names and protect the citizens of New-York from gang-related crime. So, in other word, he puts his life on the line every-goddamned-night – well, almost, every night – for the sake of the mission.

And he wouldn't have it any other way. Even if he needs to remind himself of the dangers of the night, to reassure himself that he got through last night and that he'll get through tonight…

After his nightly prodding, he pulls out his phone and screens it; it reads 9:54, almost ten o'clock. As he checks his notifications, he comes across an email he has dreaded for the past few weeks: It's from his landlord – and his rent is overdue, which means he won't be able to keep his apartment if he doesn't clear it.

And unfortunately, he's broke as fuck. Well…technically broke if we take into account: Not having a legit source of income since he has lost his job. Although, he has gotten his hands on a lot of drug money during his patrols; so much money that he'd probably be set for life. BUT, there's no way for him to use that money freely without a chance of being caught. After watching the "Breaking Bad" series, he knows that living off from cold hard cash is either gonna raise a lot of unwanted attention or get him killed if he isn't smart about it. So in the long run, paying his bills or rent with that kind of money would attract way too much attention–

"NOOO!" A voice screams in horror from the alley below him.

Dave spring up from the edge of the rooftop from which he was seated, turns around and looks down in the direction of the voice. He sees three shady-looking men holding captive a girl, who wears a long black sleeve coat. It looks like she's in deep trouble.

He goes to the nearest fire escape, running his way down as fast as he can. When he reaches the ground, he yells, "HEY! STOP!"

The men, strangling the girl with long brown hair, are dragging her towards the deep corners of the alley.

"Shit," he mutters, putting his Kick-Ass' mask over his head before running after them at full speed.

"We gave you one more week to come up with our money! And you still don't have it!" One of the three men says to the young woman, who's backed into a corner.

"What happens next is on you, perra!" The other man with a black beanie hat adds.

The girl starts to sob uncontrollably. "Please…give me one more day!"

As Kick-Ass approaches the group in the dark alley, he says, "Hey! Leave her alone!"

The man with a beanie hat, who has a five o'clock shadow and tattoos across his left forearm, turns around, glares at me, reaching for his knife that looks like a machete. "Get lost, maricón!"

Kick-Ass sighs, emerging from the darkness of the street into the light that came from a lamppost. "The thing is…you got yourself two options. One: Leave her alone. Or two: suffer the consequences." He then grins at them, reaching for his batons. "So…what's it gonna be?"

Recognition is apparent in the knife-wielding guy's eyes while he summons his goons to prepare for the incoming confrontation. "Ay dios mio, it's that stupid retard: Punk-Ass!"

"Hey, the name's Kick-Ass! Get it right, you fucker!"

"Who cares!? You're dead, cabron!"

And then, the beanie-hat guy with the knife rushes at him while his two collaborators, who look apprehensive, stay behind. He opens with a slow, but brutal-looking left hook towards his head.

He moves away from the attack and swings the baton on the guy's left arm.

"PUTA MADRE!" The knife-wielding guy screams while trying to knife him in retaliation.

Kick-Ass evades most of the swings, before being slashed across the chest. Thanks to his fuck-up nerve endings, he doesn't feel much. He then strikes him on the side of the head.

The beanie-hat guy yells in anguish from the blow and drops his knife. "You fucking PIECE OF SHIT!"

Kick-Ass smirks before kneeing him in the face. The blow makes blood come out profusely from the nose. The guy's face is completely bloody. He then falls on one knee, clutching his nose. Kick-Ass then smile at the two other guys, behind him, and say, "So…who's next?"

The guys, who have hoods over their heads, are scared shitless. It's almost too hard for Kick-Ass to not laugh at them.

"Fuck this!" One of them says, before walking over to the freshly-defeated guy in charge. "I'm not gonna get my face fucked for this shit! C'mon, bruh, she ain't worth the trouble! Let's bounce!"

The beanie-hat guy slowly gets up, wincing and clutching his bloody nose. "This isn't over, pendejo!" He then glares at the brown haired girl, before walking away with his collaborators.

Kick-Ass walks over to the girl, who was, obviously, still in shock. "Hey...you okay?"

The brown haired girl heaves a sigh, and says, "Um, yeah, I guess..." She pauses for a moment and adds, "You're bleeding."

"Huh?"

"Your chest. You're bleeding from your chest. It looks bad."

"Ooh," He says checking out the slash wound on his chest. That fucker's knife cut him deeper than he thought. "It does look a bit bad."

"It does," She says, crossing her arms. "And you should definitely get it checked at a hospital."

Remembering his last trip to the hospital, which is the most embarrassing moment in his life, he simply smiles at her. "No worries, I've been through a lot worse than this. I'll be fine." Knowing he'll take care of it himself because he doesn't want to deal with hospitals.

At the safe house, Dave is cleaning his wound.

He reaches for a suture package from the medical cart and pushes the suture needle through the wound. After a while, he ties off the end of the suture and slips a couple piece of gauze over the wound, sealing it.

He heaves a sigh and glance around the safe house: The news is playing on an 80 inch Sony TV, which is mounted against one of the walls; and guns like a pistol, shotguns, and assault rifles are neatly lined up against the other walls. He stands still, trying to regain his breath as he locks eyes at a photo that's on the work table.

He stares at it, thinking long and hard; gazing at her long blonde hair, almond shaped piercing green eyes and heart shape face brings back a lot of memories: Some good–some not so good. And every time he looks at the photo, his stomach tied in knots.

It's been almost two months. Dave hasn't seen Mindy in SEVEN friggin weeks. And ever since she left, he hasn't heard from her: no calls, no emails, no letters – and NOT EVEN a simple text. He has tried to reach her via WhatsApp, Facebook and Snapchat, but she never has replied.

He knows she has a few loose ends to take care off, but she could have at least gave him a sign of life or something. Maybe s-she's – no. No, He doesn't want to think of _that_ possibility.

He's sure she's okay. In fact, she's probably better at staying _okay_ than anyone he knows.

Sighing, he looks away from the photo, walks over to the couch and flops on it.

He wants to go home, but he's too tired. And he doesn't want to take the risk to bump into his landlord who would take the opportunity to ask for rent.

So, he closes his eyes and tries to rest, knowing that he got through all those other nights and that he'll get through tonight…

With or without her.

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**A/N: Let me know what you think. And thank you for reading.**


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